


Midnight Rain

by TheMulletWhisperer



Series: To The Stars - Alternate Universes [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Detective Noir, Detectives, Gen, Grim Hero Category 27 A, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:05:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Skyrim closer to the 1940s Los Angeles, Detective Galina Alkaev is tasked with hunting a serial killer who takes lives indiscriminately. </p>
<p>This Noir-styled take on the Elder Scrolls universe pits good against evil in a fresh new setting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Downpour

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah this happened. Was it a good idea? Maybe. I dunno, judge for yourself.
> 
> This will, however, try as hard as it can to stick to Noir cliche, so buckle your seatbelts for a cliched ride.

Falkreath. A quiet little town, quaint, for the bustling cities and skyscrapers of Skyrim. Not quite small enough that everyone knew each-other, but large enough that they were on the major supply lines. Hell, not someplace you’d want to go if you were looking for peace and quiet. You wanted that, try Riverwood.

Through the streets of the city, under the heavy rain and beneath the streetlights those of the Guard unpopular enough with the sergeant to pull night shift patrolled, rifles over their backs and pistols in holsters at their hips. Badges of silver, shaped as the head of a stag adorned their lapel, amethyst-colored uniforms crisp and ironed, just as was expected of every guard. 

Well, almost any.

Galina sat in the Dead Man’s Drink, paying only trivial attention to the singer across the room, backed by the relaxing jazz music that played through the heads of the bar’s patrons. Above her head, a thin layer of smoke floated, coating the entire bar. Nobody there seemed to care, including her. As long as they could breathe, and as long as they could drink, smoke didn’t mean shit to them.

The detective ran a hand through her wavy, bobbed, blonde hair, scanning the bartop in front of her, watching as the patron just two stools down from her left. He left behind a spillage and a small ring of his whiskey. Sloppy drinker, but there was more to the scene. A slight red tint showed on the gloss of the bar, smudged. Not two feet away from it, a napkin crumpled and tucked under the growing mountain of glasses, the same shade of red showing only on a corner. Someone had given him their number, left lipstick behind but he wasn’t interested.

Although she intended to continue her simple deduction game, a pretty face blocked her view. Imani, singer, famous, even. People came from all around the Province to see the Breton sing, mesmerized by both her beauty and her voice. Galina, on the other hand...Galina couldn’t stand her. 

Taking her cue, the Nord stood and snuffed out her cigarette in the ashtray, leaving it and a trail of fresh smoke behind as she tied her trench coat back shut, once again closing the collar button of her shirt and pulling her tie up. On her way out, she pulled her wide-brimmed fedora from the hatstand and perched it on her head. 

Just as she reached for the handle, the door opened for her, and she was faced with one of the Guard. Accomplished, sure, but she wasn’t sure Ondolemar would get far with his pissy attitude. This time, though, something was off. Worry was written on his face, urgency, even. Emotion he rarely displayed. 

“Detective, ma’am...there’s been another one.” Though usually disinterested, Galina drew upright upon hearing this, rubbing her jaw and sighing heavily. 

“The Dragon?” With simply a nod in response, Galina had all she needed. Ensuring her pistol was properly holstered, she brushed past the Altmer out the door.

=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=~=

The detective cruised down the gravel roadway, her car rocking with each and every bump it hit. Before her the road was illuminated--albeit dimly--by the headlights, her vision reduced to a dangerously short level thanks to the downpour. Regardless, the turnoff given by dispatch was easily spotted. Carefully, she dipped down onto the dirt road and approached the scene, following the flashes of the coroner’s camera and the headlights left on by the journalists on the scene.

Sneaking a peek at her watch, Galina sighed and exited her car into the midnight rain, tilting her hat further forward to shield her face from the rain. 

As she approached the barricaded scene, she was greeted with a Guardsman jogging up to her, hand held in front of his face to accomplish the same thing her hat was accomplishing. “Detective! Body’s this way!” The Dunmeri man motioned for her to follow into the brightly lit courtyard of the forest home. Constructed of timber with reinforced windows, snuffed candles guarding the patio, it was obvious they were dealing with someone who preferred to be alone as much as possible. 

Stepping up onto the wood platform, she silently thanked her stars that the rain had stopped pouring onto her. With a shake of her arms and shoulders to rid the excess water from her coat, Galina stepped through the threshold of the door into the room, her eyes adjusting momentarily to the soft, yellow light inside of the quaintly decorated cottage, so daringly contrasted by the body in the center of the floor.

Producing her notepad and pencil, she stepped over next to the coroner, looking up at the nearest officer. “Vic have a name?” 

The man nodded, pointing in the direction of the mutilated Altmer with his thumb. “Only got a first name off his stationery, Arkved. Don’t know much other than that.” 

With a sigh, Galina looked over the body, making note of the wounds--all of which seemed consistent with the Dragon’s modus operandi. Slit throat, cross pattern in the chest, and a crudely-carved dragon in the forehead. “Yeah...this fits. Question is...why would he target someone this far out?” Her question was more to herself than anyone else--thankfully so, as nobody answered her. 

Taking a wide step over to the body, she approached the end table between the chairs before the fireplace. Other than an old, cold cigarette in the ashtray, nothing seemed off. As she turned to look at the dresser, however, something caught her eye. Stepping up to the desk beneath the nearby window, she pulled on the corner of a slip of paper caught in the drawer. On the note, no more than half a sheet, was written sloppily a name, ‘ _ Songbird’ _ , a phone number, as well as an address just on the bottom right corner of the paper. 

Quickly making note of the provided information, Galina exited the house as abruptly as she’d entered, without a word to anyone. Although the reporters dogged her on her way out, she simply paid them no mind, pulling the door to her car open, she stepped inside and settled into the seat, grabbing her reciever and hitting the button on the side, “Liya, I need the location of the following address,  _ 18 Cuhlecain St. _ ” 

“Sure, one moment.” The response came almost instantly to her request as the sound of papers rustling and pages being turned followed, before the dispatcher piped up once again, “That address is to the Dead Man’s Drink on 18 Cuhlecain Street, detective.”

 

Furrowing her brow, Galina turned the key in the ignition and flipped her radio on, smooth jazz music filling the cab of the car as she backed out and returned to the main road.

 

_ “Songbird…” _


	2. Identity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to ImDex for the Dragon's note! :D

Galina pulled up next to the Drink, turning the keys once again in the ignition and stepping out into the rain once again. She quickly ran for the cover of the awning and slowed to a walk as soon as she was beneath it. Pausing just outside the door, she reached into her coat and produced her semi-automatic, .45 pistol, making damn sure that there was a bullet chambered and that the magazine was loaded, before she once again holstered it and entered the bar for the second time that night.

Well past midnight now, most of the patrons had cleared out--as had the singer, oddly enough, who’d been booked for at least the next hour. Thinking nothing of it, she approached the bar, pulling her badge out of her coat pocket and flashing it to the tender. “Galina Alkaev, Falkreath Guard.”

Straightening up, the tender smiled to the Nord and rested the both of his hands on the surface of the bar, “What can I do for you, detective? I assume this isn’t a social visit?”

With a grim shake of her head, she removed her notebook from her pocket and flipped to the marked page, holding it out to the Imperial. “This number ring any bells to you? Name, even?”

Narrowing his eyes, the tender rubbed his chin, squinting his eyes in thought. “Ah...yeah, I think so. Number at least, let me check.” Retrieving a ledger from beneath the countertop, he opened the book up and flipped through the pages for just long enough to seem like he hadn’t found anything before he piped up. “Ah, here we go! Yeah, just like I thought, that’s the singer’s number, Imani or...something.” He turned the book towards Galina and tapped on the entry. Cross-checking it with her notebook, she nodded and looked back up at him.

“You have any idea where she’s at?” As she spoke, the detective closed her notebook up and slipped it back inside her coat. 

“Last I saw her she was reading some letter before she rushed off home, talking about ending her tour early or something.”

Suddenly growing a bit tense, the hairs on the back of Galina’s neck stood up. “Did she seem distressed?”

After a few moments of thought, the tender nodded. “Yeah...yeah pretty freaked out, no clue why, though.”

Gritting her teeth, she rubbed her forehead and made for the other side of the bar. “Mind if I use your phone?” Although she asked, she’d already grabbed it and began dialing the number in the ledger. Tapping her foot impatiently, she waited for the answer...nothing. “Shit…” Once again looking down at the ledger, she retrieved the notebook and pencil from her coat and jotted down the address. “Right, thanks.” Her farewell was rushed as she jogged for the door, pushing outside and heading right for her car.

Nearly jumping inside the car, she jammed the keys in the ignition and listened as the engine rumbled to life. Grabbing her dispatch radio, she pressed the button and spoke hastily as she sped down the street, siren wailing. “Dispatch, this is car 12-Ocean, requesting an ambulance and armed backup at 72 Falcrenth Avenue, on the double!” Haphazardly tossing the receiver aside, she gunned the gas and sped down the street as fast as the car could move, her own pounding pulse drowning out whatever response Liya gave her.

Although she was there in mere minutes, it felt to Galina like hours as she jumped out of her car, pulling her pistol and breaking into a sprint towards the door. Curling her hand into a fist, she pounded on it, “Falkreath Guard! Open up!” Barely giving three seconds for a response, the detective placed a kick right at the doorknob, breaking off a large chunk of doorframe in the process. Weapon at the ready, she cleared every corner of the house. Nothing...nobody. 

With a sigh, she holstered her weapon and looked down to the floor, stopping just short of whatever she was about to trip on. Looking over whatever the object was...whoever…

Kneeling down, she squinted her eyes for a better look in the dark, giving her eyes a moment to adjust.

Imani.

Sighing heavily, she slammed her fist into the carpeted floor, shaking her head as her requested backup entered the house. However, as she raised her head to address the officers, a piece of paper clutched in Imani’s hand caught her eye. Prising it open, she pulled the note out and read it over:

 

_ “I had watched as you flitted around the stage, swaying your hips flirtatiously, bosom pressed prettily and heavy against the rhinestone top of your dress. I had never seen a woman built like you and though you moved with grace and kept your body reserved your motions were still so…delectable. Unable to take my eyes away I noted the gold glittered flecks of warmth across your flesh that looked so soft and so lickable, heating your already sun kissed body in a nearly ethereal glow, and I remember distinctly the unnatural tug at my heart the second your hand reached out toward me. You had smiled as you locked eyes with me and had given a playful little shrug with one shoulder. Just like that you were gone. Back to your show back to working your way around the crowd of jeering men and jealous women, working your magic, and raising your voice in song as you entertained them. You didn't realize then that you had affectively snatched up my heart, soul, and mind with that little smile.  _

_ That night as I left with my colleagues I had played my role well. No matter how alluring you were, you were still beneath us, nothing more than another human therefore inferior. I had remained silent. They were right, I had tried to tell myself, you were nothing more than a little tease with a pretty voice and dangerous curves.  _

_ I failed. _

_ Never for the rest of the night, never for the following days was I able to cleanse the thought of you, that night, in that bar.  _

_ I had to do something. I had to make you mine. _

_ I had to cage you, my sweet little songbird.  _

_ I couldn't allow you to continue your flight around Skyrim. I couldn't allow your voice to draw them into your light like a moth to flame. I couldn't risk you being swept away by the ones that weren't worthy. I had been your Dragon, your guardian, Rulindil…and as your protector I did what was best for you, my perfect little Imani.” _

Eyes flitting over the paper, she honed in on the name at the bottom of the paper. Rulindil...the Dragon, the Dragon was Rulindil, whoever that may be. She had him on the ropes, she was ready, now, to capture the most dangerous serial killer of her time.

_ “Rulindil…” _


	3. Finally Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Falls onto bed* Well I did this at 4 in the morning and I hope it turned out alright because I can barely see through all this sleep I need to be getting.

Galina pushed past the responders to her call and pulled the door to her car open, sitting half-in and half-out as she grabbed the radio receiver. “Liya, I need an address on a Rulindil ASAP!” From the other side of the radio, she could hear the dispatcher reel back from the volume of Galina’s voice. “Uh...right, one moment detective.”

Although it only took a few moments, it felt to the Nord like years as the leg of her trousers soaked through in the rain. “Alright, here it is...there’s no address, per-se, but you’re looking for a dirt road about a mile out of town.” 

Pumping her fist, she pulled the rest of herself into the car, starting it up and shifting to reverse. “Relay that information to any available Guardsmen, make sure they come armed and ready.” Gunning the gas, she pulled a u-turn and sped off down the road, hardly noticing the sign that signalled her leaving the town. 

As she mentally kept track of how far she’d driven, Galina occupied herself with checking her equipment, the shotgun in the back seat, the pistol in her holster, the works. In no time, she’d reached the road and swerved onto the dirt. Unfortunately, she seemed to over calculate, swerving on the wet road and slamming sidelong into a tree.

Clutching her head, she tried to clear her vision by blinking several times. As she pulled her hand away, she noted the blood oozing from her temple. Nonetheless, she was determined to put the case to rest. Grabbing the shotgun, she slid to the other side of the car and pushed the door open, stepping out into the rain for--hopefully--the last time that night. Flicking the flashlight attached to her lapel on, she took off in a jog for the end of the road.

Although she’d lost track of how long she’d been running through the throbbing pain in her head, she simply kept moving, gripping the slide of the shotgun in one hand with the other wrapped around the stock, finger just off the trigger to avoid any misfires.

Eventually, she came to face the shack, with lights flipped on inside and someone very obviously moving in front of the windows. Picking the pace, Galina approached the front door and wasted absolutely no time in kicking it right off its hinges, pulling the butt of the shotgun against her shoulder and entering the house. “Falkreath Guard, come out with your hands up!”

While her demand was met with something, it wasn’t what she’d instructed. From upstairs, a rather large Altmer came barreling down, slipping on the hardwood floors and booking it into the next room. “Gua--” She got about halfway through the first word before taking a shot, watching as the buckshot missed and took out several chunks of wood in the wall. 

Giving chase, the suspect led her through several rooms before simply...vanishing in the den, leaving in his wake several smashed vases and lamps. 

Not quite daring to relax and lower her weapon yet, Galina searched around the room for Rulindil, eventually establishing that he was indeed  _ not  _ in the room. With such established, she turned her eye to the finer details of the room, pushing aside couches, moving bookshelves, tables, and chairs. Nothing. Unless…

Setting the shotgun aside, the detective bent down and pulled the throw rug away, revealing exactly what she’d hoped to find. A manhole cover. Lacing her fingers through the holds, she lifted it with a loud groan and a grimace for the ages, every single muscle in her body screaming as she moved the heavy steel disc. 

Luckily she was able to pull it away, once again grabbing the shotgun and dropping down into the sewers.

It was the smell that hit her first, not that which one would usually find in sewers. No, this was the smell of rot, of decay. Human decay, to put a finer point on it. 

The sight came next. On the walls were pinned countless bodies, all in different states of undress, dismemberment, and decay, some dressed like insects, others like animals, while most of the women were simply stripped naked. Prompting caution, Galina stepped softly through the sewer, keeping an eye out for any movement and an ear out for the same. 

As she rounded a corner, her vigilance paid off, once again spotting the killer fiddling with one of the bodies on the wall--definitely one of the fresh ones. One she...recognized. Arkved, the murder that sparked the whole chase. 

Forcing herself to shake clear the distraction that came from the odd sight, Galina took off in pursuit as Rulindil ran down the long corridor, giving the detective a perfect shot--were she not holding a woefully inaccurate firearm. Nonetheless, she fired off a shot which, thanks to the butterfly of chaos theory, hit him squarely in the leg just in time for him to disappear around another corner.

Without a thought she followed, coming to the corner and rounding it without caution--something she would come to regret. 

A fist came in firm contact with the bridge of her nose, and a knife with her shoulder. Dropping the shotgun and crying out in pain, Galina collapsed to the floor, barely able to see through her thoroughly blurred vision, both from the head and face wound. She only peripherally registered the hands grabbing her by the waist, lifting her, and pinning her against a free section of wall. 

Quite quickly, her vision sharpened and she was faced with the sight of a rather tall Altmer with pitch-black eyes, pressed flush against her and smirking evilly. “Look at you...strong detective, finally found me...I’ve watched you for a long time now, ever since you started on this case…” His hand trailed down her body, stopping at her chest for a moment before continuing lower, to the seam where her shirt tucked into her belted slacks. “...what you have under all these layers.” Nimbly, his fingers began pulling up the hem of the shirt from her pants, his eyes trailing down to where his fingers rested--giving her just the right opportunity. 

Lifting her free--albeit painfully wounded--arm, she reached into her coat and grabbed her pistol, pressing it to his chest and squeezing the trigger until he let go of her. Panting heavily, she slid down against the wall and rested her head against it, looking down at the Altmer who gasped for air that would never come. “I’ve got that, asshole.” 

With a heavy swallow, she once again holstered the gun and limped towards the ladder on the far side of the corridor, passing all the dead bodies with little interest other than to the one she’d just added to the collection. With only one arm, she ascended to the surface, pushing aside the manhole cover with suspicious ease, greeted with the sunlight of dawn peeking through the receding stormclouds, followed by several hands pulling her out of the sewer and laying her on her back. As her fedora fell off, she gave a heavy sigh. 

 

“It’s over…”

  
_ “Finally over.” _


End file.
